Mobbed by Kea on SH94 at Monkey Creek, near the Homer Tunnel, Milford. Photo / Thomas Bywater
Mobbed by Kea on SH94 at Monkey Creek, near the Homer Tunnel, Milford. Photo / Thomas Bywater
On a long weekend in Queenstown, Thomas Bywater makes the journey from sea level to the top of Wānaka’s highest ski field at 2088m. And back down again.
Six a.m. starts are not unusual for a ski holiday in Queenstown.
Standing on the corner of Frankton Rd, the tail lights of cars heading to the ski field cut a line across the jagged Remarkables. But I was not heading to the snow.
Visiting Queenstown in late July, time is a precious thing. Some resorts charge pass-holders an additional $200 a season to squeeze on to the lifts up to an hour early and, this year, Cardrona ski field had to ask visitors to book visits in advance. Each morning, it’s a race for the mountain. Day-pass holders try to squeeze as many uplifts into a visit as possible. So, who would spend 13 hours of precious winter on a coach trip?
For a snowy winter morning in Milford Sound / Piopiotahi, there were plenty of sightseers waiting to go the distance.
The Real NZ coach departed Wakatipu in darkness. There were 27 of us aboard the bus, most were asleep by the time we climbed the Devil’s Staircase into Southland.
As dawn broke through the panoramic windows, it was frost and deer fences as far as the eye could see.
“It’s a very hearty place, full of hearty people,” was the assessment of Hendrik, our South African coach driver. His thick accent and reverence for the region made it difficult to tell if he meant that the Southlanders were robust or particularly jolly. Both were probably true, that crisp July morning.
Eglinton Flats on SH94 on the way to Milford Sound. Photo / Thomas Bywater
Counting passengers back on to the bus in Afrikaans after a brisk stop in Te Anau, there was a lot of distance to cover on the 600km round trip. State Highway 94 is a road trip I had taken many times but never in winter.
As one of the many driving the tourist route in summer, or stinking to high heaven after tramping to the Divide, the path through the Southern Alps had a completely different character.
Eglinton Valley was a landscape I hardly recognised. Snow, frost and low bands of ethereal clouds. We had the place to ourselves.
Getting off the coach was Filipe, a snowboarder from Melbourne who joined the trip after a leg injury on the slopes, a family from Germany off to South Korea for a Scout Jamboree, tourists from Malaysia, Singapore and plenty of Australians.
At turns, we were mobbed by kea at Monkey Creek and overshadowed by “catastrophic rainforest” - precarious knots of mountain beech, clinging on to the sheer granite. Traces of avalanches and landfalls scar the mountainside.
Mobbed by Kea on SH94 at Monkey Creek, near the Homer Tunnel, Milford. Photo / Thomas Bywater
As Hendrik explained, it was a landscape beloved by outdoorsy New Zealanders and traversed by three Great Walks (full of “very hearty tracks, for hearty trampers”). He describes the drive as “New Zealand’s Grand Canyon”. Started in the 1930s, it might be more accurate to compare SH94 to New Zealand’s Hoover Dam. The road was a Depression-era job creation project designed to do the impossible - carve through the spine of the Southern Alps.
Nowhere is this clearer than when passing through the Homer Tunnel.
Cut through to the other side of Te Tiritiri Moana, the tunnel’s rough rock walls make no effort to hide the fact you are driving through 1.2km of igneous rock. It’s a journey that the panoramic windows of the tour bus show spectacularly well but fail to show really how wild the journey to the West Coast can be.
At the Homer Saddle, there is almost daily avalanche mitigation through winter. A payload of almost 5,000,000 pascals of ice hang over the tourist route, which Waka Kotahi chip away at with helicopter-delivered explosive charges.
Such are the efforts to keep the tourist route open. Mostly because of what’s at the end of SH94. Milford Sound - Piopiotahi has been a “must-visit” for international tourists since a renowned children’s author visited it in 1891 on a trip.
Mitre Peak Milford Sound's most recognisable mountain greets cruise passengers on a chilly July afternoon. Photo / Thomas Bywater
Rudyard Kipling, who was never one to lose his head - even while those around him were losing theirs - called the views under Mitre Peak the: “Eighth Wonder of the World.”
It must have been on a clear blue day like this one.
Boarding the Milford Monarch, we made it with time to spare for the hour-and-a-half cruise out to the Tasman Sea and the spray of Stirling Falls. It’s an experience that draws coach-loads of tourists from around the world, year-round. Though there are fewer departures in winter, the off-peak Milford experience offers a quieter, more spectacular view into Fiordland and a better sense of the West Coast’s true character. Imposing, impressive and - if it weren’t for SH94 - normally impassable.
Returning back to Queenstown, just after 7pm, it was a long day for sure, but compared to the journeys of those building the road, or carrying pounamu on the greenstone trails across the Mackinnon Pass, it was a breeze.
On his 13th winter in Wānaka working for Cardrona and Treble Cone, the operation changed a lot. Since he first joined in 2012, the number of snow instructors has doubled.
The Cardies, as they are affectionately known, draw crowds from across Australia and New Zealand, for reliable safe skiing and are the starting off point for many learners’ first tacks. Recently voted by Herald readers as New Zealand’s Favourite Ski Field - it’s a place with fond memories.
Like skiers, instructors tend to graduate from Cardrona, the home of the training programmes, to Treble Cone and the views over Lake Wānaka.
“I love both ski fields equally,” says Jimmy, diplomatically. “But, Treble Cone has a lot of soul.”
Busy car parking at the Cardrona Ski Field, Wānaka Photo / Thomas Bywater
Judging by the number of off-duty snow instructors we met, spending their day off on the slopes, it’s a sentiment that many share. Since Real NZ took over operations at the two ski fields in 2021, you’ll even find the odd Milford boat hand enjoying the perks of a staff pass.
Treble Cone is characterised by “wicked views of the lake,” says Jimmy. At points, the sheer pistes give the impression of dropping into the waters below.
“The terrain is pretty steep and there is a lot of off-piste, which can be a bit off-putting for some.”
However, those visiting Treble Cone are normally looking for a challenge. And at the top of the Treble Cone Summit Ridge, that’s exactly what you’ll find.
The backcountry area, which is accessed by a gate at the top of the Saddle Lift, comes into its own when conditions are deep and steep. Even when snow is a little patchy, as it was that July, it didn’t stop people venturing up to the trig point. There are no lifts to the saddle. The Summit Hike has been described as a right of passage. Here snowboarders unclip and set off on the 10-minute walk, which resembles a detour through a John Krakauer novel.
Treble Cone Ski Field's patrolled backcountry snow area, the Summit Ridge, in Wānaka. Photo / Thomas Bywater
With views out to Mt Aspiring, it feels exposed and wild. However, as Jimmy points out, it is patrol monitored for avalanche danger. It’s a challenge, but a nice safe place to explore and get a taste of off-piste.
Saving it for the last run of the day, there was just time enough for a quick look back to Black Peak before descending the full 700m of vertical drop.
Treble Cone bills itself as home to some of the “most challenging terrain within the boundaries of a patrolled and protected ski area.” Something my burning legs would agree with.
